


Uncomfortable

by idontwanttodothisanymore



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, anxiety all around, crank!newt, exploring the newtmas friendship, fast acting crank symptoms, fun character dynamics!, hints of a suicidal newt, lots of cussing, they're friends not lovers in this, this is writing practice, thomas is trying his hardest, zombie-like crank symptoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 14:39:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontwanttodothisanymore/pseuds/idontwanttodothisanymore
Summary: "Stop it, what if we can cure you!?" Thomas' voice is dry, scratchy, it tastes like blood is running down his throat. While he knocks the gun out of his best friend's hand, he sighs deeply. It doesn't take much because the grip on the gun was so loose, so weak."I'll turn, I'll.. I'll hurt everyone." There's a hitch in his voice as he whispers, "What if I hurt you?" Newt shakes, his fingers desperately grasping at Thomas' in an effort to plead for his death.





	Uncomfortable

**Author's Note:**

> death is fun, don't let anyone tell you otherwise!

Another day, another mission. This time around with feasible planning behind it, doesn't that sound grand? Nothing like the plans from a few months ago, when narrowly escaping the Maze. As well as WICKED, let's not forget that. No, we never forget that. Especially Newt. Thomas using his mind for once? Simply unimaginable!

"You sure about this?" Chewing on his inner cheek and readjusting the hand on his hip. This plan is going to end up terribly, he couldn't help but feel it would. Physically. Sickly sweet and bitter bile kept rising and falling in his throat, borderline threatening to spill out his mouth at any point. Nerves were tapping his body, numbing his brain into thinking that something was going to happen to someone. He could barely feel the tingles in his fingertips while he kept them wrapped tightly around his handgun. Cynically, he thought that maybe he'd die for once but a voice pulls him out of that thought quickly enough.

"Am I ever sure about anything?" Even after knowing the boy for so long and having the ability to predict the response he was going to get, he still felt his blood boil. The knee-jerk reaction to punch Thomas in the arm almost has him accidentally squeezing the trigger instead. Wouldn't that have been a riot.

"You're a bloody idiot." Newt grits his teeth, tone tethering a very, very fine line of genuine loathing and loving.

"Your idiot, though." Thomas chides, all too proud. Though dim, Newt can most definitely make out the glint of a smirk. His idiotic partner in crime's teeth shining in the midday sunset. Colors of blue, red, and orange melding together to create a mesmerising hue similiar to an oil painting.

"Now's not the time to get soft on me Tommy." Newt says it and means it. Professions of silly love aren't meant to be said outside of crank hideouts, much less in what seems to feel like a dangerous situation. But doesn't it always? "Be proper, and tell me what exactly the plan is then?"

It takes Thomas a few moments to think up a response, looking down into the sand and avoiding his friend's gaze purposefully.

That's never a good sign.

"You didn't fucking think this out!?" A frustrated yet amused cry breaks the tension and Newt hits Thomas upside the head with the butt of his gun. "You're bloody kidding me." It's not meant as a sigh but as an afterthought. Because _of course_ Thomas hadn't thought this out. "Not only did you lie to me about this being oh, so intricately planned but you have the audacity to drag me through the desert under that impression?!" A wicked smile can't help but tug at his mouth as he looks into Thomas' eyes. He's got to be bloody joking. But of course, he wasn't.

He should have known better than to think that Thomas would have have an intricate plan. Every mission is a suicide mission with Tommy. Yet? He finds himself never minding it much.

Newt always knew that he would follow Thomas anywhere. Maybe that's the problem with their friendship.

Maybe the trouble isn't the friendship in itself. But the trouble is the fact that no matter what they will follow each other. No matter what situation. No questions asked.

They never bothered to stop and ask each other why. Why they were so unwilling to  leave each other's sides. Why it is that they need to always be together? Why they felt offput by the idea of being apart.

Thomas tries to keep Newt safe in any and every situation they have come across so far but it has yet to work. Newt always follows even when he knows he shouldn't; saying stupid things like "I call shotgun, then." And Thomas can't ever shake him off.

Every second, every minute was too precious to not be spending with each other perhaps.

"Maybe don't die?" The ex-runner tries as laughter abrupts before the two of them. It's light before progressing to manic. Until it suddenly slows to silence yet again.

They exchange knowing looks and nod.

"Maybe." Newt replies, offering a tight smile.

As they silently make their way into the cave, bodies moving so close to one another. Thomas moves front and center while Newt scans the terrain for any movement, ears picking up on some noise maybe several feet inside the cave.

"Weapons hot, Tommy." It's a whisper just barely ghosting his ear. It causes Thomas to hold his gun even tighter.

"You've got me?"

"You've got me?"

Both chime out at the same time, neither waiting for a real response before the loud groaning of cranks can be heard. Their position isn't compromised just yet. Despite the massive amount of cranks against two, Newt is a fairly good shot.

At first the wave of cranks a few feet in the cave is no large task for Newt to hold off. Ammunition deafening while Thomas makes busy trying to take cover and look for anything he could salvage for the boys and girls at camp. Nearly a hundred had arrived a few hours earlier from a mission gone wrong to try and save Minho.

"Tommy." It rolls off Newt's tongue desperately, nervously. The sick churning in his stomach is back, something doesn't feel right. Bile rising and falling again and again, over and over until he's distracted by a sound. He doesn't know what it is but it's just distant enough for him to feel uneasy. To feel as if maybe there were more cranks than they anticipated. In times like these he remembers that his senses aren't always reliable so he chooses to back away enough to buy himself time to reload.

Between changing magazines for his handgun, Newt is knocked down to the ground by a few cranks. Somehow being a scrawny little shuck hasn't exactly weighed out in his favor. He tries to kick them off but finds that his limp leg is no help and now pain is running through it like an absolute bitch. Slick black blood is spilling onto him as the cranks try to get a good nibble out of him from every angle. It's bloody disgusting and he groans with his mouth closed in efforts to keep the black blood out of his body. His handgun has been knocked out of his hand, the weapon flung not too far away from him to not be able to reach. Trying to fend the crank on top of him off all while retrieving his gun, he is successful.

"Thomas!" They are two gasping syllables as his best friend turns around in time. Simultaneously they shoot the crank and Newt crawls out from under it and shoots the two that are clinging to his legs.

"Newt!" Thomas runs up and grabs his hand, getting him up and pulling him towards the exit as fast as he can manage.

Their lungs are burning, air escaping them at impossible speeds. While their legs run and run and run. Newt is the first to bow out after a good two miles from the searing pain in his legs alone, slipping onto the sand messily. The blonde's legs ressemble a marionette doll's and his chest is heaving, his breaths coming out as wheezes.

"Guess I wasn't a runner for a reason, huh?" It's said dejectedly, a hint of sacasm laced within it yet Thomas doesn't respond with a snarky comment. For once in his life he is speechless as he looks down on Newt. "Why such a glum look?"

Thomas is far too silent for Newt's taste, it makes him oddly vunerable so he squeezes the fingers interlocked with his for comfort. Even tugs the older boy down to sit with him. Thomas remains standing, looking down on Newt with the most hurtful look in his eyes.

They made it far enough to no longer hear the moaning of monsters. To breathe fresh air. And not to mention they had more weapons to add to their arsenal. So what's the fuss?

"When did it happen? Was I not paying enough attention?"

Newt is absolutely dumbfounded until he follows Thomas' gaze to his limp leg. Two very distinct bite marks covered in black sludge can be seen through the ripped material of his pants.

"Tommy." Newt knows what needs to be done. "You've got to-"

"Don't."

"Don't what!?" Newt screams helplessly, "You have to!" Thomas refuses to acknowledge what he knows Newt is requesting of him because he does not want to. In no situation would he want to. How could he?

"Fuck!" Thomas hisses under his breath because of course Newt gets bitten and not him. How was he ever going to forgive himself for this? Had it been him then it would have been better, he would not be half as scared as the boy shaking in front of him. This is his fault.

"I'm scared." Tears start to fall down his cheeks and his nails dig into the sand frustratingly. "Tommy, I don't.. I don't want to be.." Sharp gasps and whimpers can be heard as Thomas fingers the blade in his waistband.

"Please don't."

"I'll do it if you won't." Newt's hand is shaking as he raises his left hand, handgun to his temple, finger resting too gently on the trigger. His heartbeat is running at an erratic rate and his wrist twitches.

He won't do it, Thomas knows this.

They both do.

Newt is scared of self-infliction.

But it's a last ditch effort.

"Stop it, what if we can cure you!?" Thomas' voice is dry, scratchy, it tastes like blood is running down his throat. While he knocks the gun out of his best friend's hand, he sighs deeply. It doesn't take much because the grip on the gun was so loose, so weak.

"I'll turn, I'll.. I'll hurt everyone." There's a hitch in his voice as he whispers, "What if I hurt you?" Newt shakes, his fingers desperately grasping at Thomas' in an effort to plead for his death. He pulls him down to his knees and brings Tommy's hand to his cheek. Breathing in deep he exhales slowly and rubs his cheeks against Thomas' knuckles like he always managed to do when calming the boy down. Newt feels his lungs failing him and a wave of blackened phlegm is coughed up.

"You won't." The ex-runner tries to assure. Thomas knows Newt is scared out of his mind and that he doesn't have too much time left. The venom of the two bites on his limp leg searing through his bloodstream relentlessly.

"Tommy, you can't keep me around. I'm a liability now. I'm dangerous."

Newt swallows hard, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak much less breathe, "I will be dangerous." His voice wavering as he spits up more black blood. He looks at Thomas with tears in his eyes and blinks his eyes, there is a flash of pure black and it shocks the both of them.

Tears trickle down onto Thomas' fingers and he finds himself tearing up as well. There's no way he can do this. On the other hand, there's no possible way Newt could do it himself.

The gun trick was a bluff to get him going. It worked.

"Please Tommy, please. If you were ever my friend, you'd kill me."

Thomas' chest tightens at the pleas. He mulls it over that maybe life without his best friend wouldn't be so terrific. That maybe he can allow himself to get bitten by Newt in an effort to die together. But, that's far too kind a death for him. He decides that he deserves this, to kill his best friend in cold blood after all the danger he's put him in.

The clock has always been ticking for the both of them, its ticking just sped up for Newt is all.

Thomas had always wondered how they would die. How Newt would die and why. Now he knows the answer. With his entire being, he despises it.

Newt's eyes begin to clear. He blinks several times. Eyes flickering rapidly, brown to black. Black blood begins to ooze from his mouth and a feral growl rips through him. Black veins cement themselves into the network of human veins before. The fingers on Thomas' own tighten, nails digging viciously enough to break skin. Black replaces the brown orbs that Thomas use to find himself staring into in times of distress.

He knows what he has to do.

Through blurry eyes, he quickly lifts the knife from his waistband and stabs it into a snarling Newt. The blade goes through the heart until the slender body falls stiff against Thomas' shoulder from the impact.

"Newt, I loved you." He whispers the sweet nothing into the ear of the boy's dying vessel.

"I know." Newt comes out of it to speak once more. Choking on his own blood and the crank blood, until Thomas blinks away rapid tears. He can hear broken whispers of his name through it all. _Tommytommytommy_. The wound is too superficial he concludes, so he uses all his strength to push the knife until it is through and through. He feels it all and that's when he throws his head back in angry defeat.

The body of what was once Newt falls limp into his own and he wraps his arms around it. Thomas cradles the back of Newt's head and smudges a kiss to his still lukewarm forehead. He runs his fingers through his sweaty hair and cries into it. Thomas hugs the corpse tighter and impossibly closer. "I'm so fucking sorry for this, Newt."


End file.
